Extended Epilogue
Bianca
One year later, I’m standing in Mario and Elena’s backyard trying to convince my five-month-old son that crying during wedding ceremonies is considered rude, even if you are technically too young to understand social etiquette.
“Come on, Romeo,” I whisper, bouncing him gently against my shoulder as the officiant drones on about love and commitment. “My half-brother is finally making an honest woman out of Elena. This is a historic moment.”
Romeo responds by grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking hard enough to make my eyes water.
Alessandro, sitting beside me in his perfectly pressed suit, tries to hide his smirk behind his hand.
“He’s got your attitude,” he murmurs close to my ear.
“He’s got your grip strength,” I counter, trying to pry tiny fingers out of my carefully styled curls. “Seriously, how is someone who weighs twenty pounds this strong?”
“DeLuca genetics,” Dad says proudly from my other side, reaching over to stroke Romeo’s chubby cheek. “He’s going to be trouble.”
“He already is trouble,” I mutter, finally freeing my hair only to have Romeo immediately grab for Alessandro’s tie instead.
The garden setting is actually perfect for Mario and Elena’s wedding—intimate and romantic without being overly sentimental.
Light pink flowers are everywhere, string lights hung between the trees, and just enough people to make it feel like a celebration without turning it into a political spectacle.
After everything they’ve been through together, they deserve something beautiful and uncomplicated.
Well, they deserve each other, anyway. Which is probably the nicest thing I can say about this union.
Elena looks radiant in a simple ivory dress that shows off her growing baby bump—they’re due in December. The thought of another baby in the family should be exciting, but considering the parents involved, I’m mostly just hoping for the kid’s sake that they’ve both learned from their past mistakes.
Speaking of which, the children have turned the wedding into their own personal playground.
All three flower girls—Arianna, Stella, and little Maisie Moretti—are currently “helping” by throwing flower petals with the kind of enthusiasm that ensures the bride and groom will be finding rose petals in their hair for weeks.
Arianna takes her job very seriously, marching down the aisle with her little basket like she’s leading a military parade.
Stella follows behind her with the concentrated focus of a child determined to do everything perfectly for her mama and daddy’s special day.
Giovanni, meanwhile, has decided that throwing petals is much more fun than walking sedately as the ring bearer, and is launching handfuls of flowers into the air like confetti.
Three-year-old Stella DeLuca beams with pride every time someone tells her how pretty she looks in her flower girl dress, a miniature version of Elena’s ivory gown.
She has Elena’s delicate features but her dark hair and serious eyes remind me of someone else entirely—someone whose name we don’t mention at family gatherings.
But looking at her now, clutching her flower basket and staying close to Mario throughout the ceremony, I’m reminded once again that biology doesn’t determine family.
Mario chose to be her father when no one else would, just like Dad chose to be mine.
The love between them is genuine and complete, unmarked by the complicated circumstances of her birth.
And for that, I give Mario props. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to me when I was twelve, but watching him be a loving father to a fatherless child is admirable.
“At least they’re having fun,” Bella observes, smiling as she watches Mario kiss his bride while Stella claps excitedly beside them.
The ceremony itself is mercifully short—probably because Mario and Elena have been together for so long that the formal declarations feel more like a confirmation of what everyone already knew rather than a shocking revelation.
When the officiant pronounces them husband and wife, the small gathering erupts in genuine applause and cheers.
Romeo, startled by the sudden noise, lets out a wail that could probably be heard three blocks away.
“Aaaand that’s our cue,” Alessandro says, reaching for our son with practiced ease. “Come here, little man. Let’s go find somewhere quiet.”
I watch him walk away, cuddling Romeo against his chest, murmuring soft reassurances in that low voice that never fails to make both Romeo and me melt.
Alessandro has taken to fatherhood like he was born for it.
He’s patient, gentle, and completely devoted. Watching him with our son makes my heart do these stupid little flips every single time.
“You’re staring,” Siobhan O’Connor observes, appearing beside me with a glass of champagne and her trademark amused expression.
She looks absolutely stunning in a blue silk Versace dress that complements her red hair and pale skin.
“I’m appreciating,” I correct, accepting the champagne gratefully. “There’s a difference.”
“Aye, there is,” she agrees, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “And speaking of appreciating, who’s the woman Marco brought as his date? Because I was under the impression he was married to his work.”
I follow her gaze to where Marco Renaldi is deep in conversation with a stunning brunette who looks like she could be a model. Or possibly an assassin.
With Marco, it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference.
“No idea,” I admit, making a note to ask Sofia about it. Sofia makes sure to know all of her brother’s business. “But if Marco actually brought someone to a family wedding, it must be serious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with the same woman twice.”
I eye Siobhan speculatively. Is there a reason why she’s asking? “You ever think about, you know…” I gesture toward Marco with my champagne glass.
Siobhan looks confused for a moment before understanding dawns on her face.
Her expression shifts to one of pure revulsion, like I just suggested she eat raw fish.
“Absolutely not,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “Never. Sweet Christ, I could eat that man for breakfast and still be hungry for lunch. He’s far too pretty and polite for my taste.”
I snort with laughter, feeling champagne bubble up in my nose. So she was just curious, not jealous. “Fair enough.”
“Besides,” Siobhan continues with a wicked grin, “times change, but not that much. Look at you—a year and a half ago you were a college student playing at being dangerous. Now you’re a mother, a wife, and one of the most feared leaders on the East Coast. But me chasing after Marco Renaldi? That’s where I draw the line.”
“I prefer ‘respected,’” I correct mildly.
“Feared, respected—in our world, they’re often the same thing,” she points out with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Either way, you’ve done well for yourself, girl.”
The reception flows around us as the afternoon stretches into evening.
The Morettis have claimed a table near the dance floor where little Maisie is attempting to teach Giovanni some complicated dance move that involves a lot of spinning and giggling.
Dante looks relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before, his arm around Sofia’s shoulders as they watch their daughter play.
It’s strange how normal this all feels now.
If you asked me a year ago, the idea of attending a family wedding where everyone was genuinely happy and relaxed would have seemed impossible.
Too much history, too many old grudges, too many reasons for tension.
But looking around this garden, watching children play while their parents laugh and celebrate, I realize that we’ve actually managed to build something new.
Not just alliances based on mutual benefit, but genuine relationships built on respect and shared experience.
“You look deep in thought. Care to share?” Alessandro asks, returning with a much calmer Romeo who’s now fascinated by the string lights overhead.
“Just thinking about how different everything is now,” I tell him, leaning into his warmth as he wraps his free arm around my waist. “How we’ve all managed to become actual family instead of just business associates.”
“It helps that we stopped trying to kill each other,” he points out reasonably as he sheds his jacket and loosens his tie.
“That was definitely a step in the right direction,” I agree, laughing as Romeo makes a grab for the lights that are well out of his reach. “No, lovey, you can’t have that,” I coo to my baby.
The music shifts to something slower, and couples begin drifting toward the makeshift dance floor.
Mario spins Elena carefully, both of them glowing with happiness, while other guests join them in the gentle celebration.
“Dance with me?” Alessandro asks, shifting Romeo to one arm and extending his other hand to me.
“What about Romeo?” I ask, even as I’m already reaching for his outstretched hand.
“He comes too,” Alessandro says, as if it was completely obvious. “Multi-tasking. You should get used to it.”
I stick my tongue out at him but follow him to the dance floor, where I find myself slow dancing in a garden with my husband and infant son.
Romeo seems to enjoy the gentle swaying, his blue eyes—just like mine—tracking the movement of lights and flowers with the serious concentration that already marks him as a DeLuca.
“Dad’s right. He’s going to be trouble,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his soft hair.
“The best kind of trouble,” Alessandro agrees, spinning us slowly as the music swells. “Smart, strong, and absolutely convinced he can take on the world.”
“Wonder where he gets that from,” I say dryly, dodging as Romeo makes a swipe for my hair.
“Must be his mother’s influence,” Alessandro replies with mock seriousness, his eyes dancing with mirth. “His father is known for being cautious and reasonable.”
I snort. “His father once jumped out of a moving car to chase down armed criminals,” I point out.
“That was one time,” Alessandro argues back. “And I seem to remember a certain someone also jumping out a car to face down Calabrese soldiers.”
Okay, he’s got me there but I’m not about to back down.
“His father also proposed to a nineteen-year-old mafia princess after dating her for less than four months,” I shoot back. “If you can even call it dating.”
“That was good judgment, not recklessness,” Alessandro grins, dipping me carefully while Romeo squeals with delight at the sudden movement. “Best decision I ever made.”
The song ends, but we stay on the dance floor, swaying gently as other couples move around us. Romeo has fallen asleep against Alessandro’s shoulder, his tiny fist curled against his father’s shirt, completely content and secure.
This is what I want him to remember, I realize. Not the violence or the danger or the complicated politics that come with our world, but this—the love, the laughter, the sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself.
The knowledge that no matter what happens, family will always be there to catch you when you fall.
“What are you thinking about now?” Alessandro asks softly, noting my thoughtful expression.
“Legacy,” I tell him honestly. “What we’re building for him. What kind of world he’s going to inherit.”
Alessandro’s expression grows serious as he considers this. “He’s going to inherit power, yes. But he’s also going to inherit love. The knowledge that strength and gentleness can coexist, that you can be dangerous and still choose mercy.”
“Think he’ll be able to handle it?” I ask, studying Romeo’s peaceful face. My heart squeezes painfully at the thought of the world he’s going to grow up in. I wish I could shield him from it forever. “All the expectations, all the responsibility?”
“He’ll rise to the occasion,” Alessandro says with conviction. “Just like his mother.”
As the evening winds down and guests begin making their goodbyes, I find myself reluctant to leave this perfect bubble of happiness and normalcy.
But Romeo is getting fussy, and we still have a forty-minute drive back to the city.
“Thank you,” Elena says as we’re gathering our things, pulling me into a careful hug around the baby.
“For everything. For being here, for supporting us, for…” She gestures toward a tired looking Stella who is currently being shepherded by Giovanni and Arianna’s nanny toward the house and not looking too thrilled about it.
I return the hug politely, because family is family even when that family has a history of making questionable choices. “Congratulations,” I tell her, and I do mean it. They’ve found their way to each other despite everything, and that’s worth something.
“For helping get rid of the Calabreses,” Mario finishes, his scarred face soft with emotion as he looks at his new wife.
“That’s what we do,” I tell them simply, keeping my tone neutral. Because while I’m not thrilled about their past betrayals, I’m also not interested in relitigating old grievances at their wedding. Some things you move past for the sake of family peace, even if you don’t entirely forget them.
The drive home is quiet, Romeo sleeping peacefully in his car seat while Alessandro and I hold hands across the center console.
The city lights blur past the windows, and I find myself thinking about how much has changed in such a short time.
A year and a half ago, I was angry and lost, convinced that learning the truth about my parentage had destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself.
Now I understand that it actually freed me to become exactly who I was always meant to be.
“No regrets?” Alessandro asks softly, as if he can read my thoughts.
“About what?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He shrugs. “Any of it. The trials, the violence, choosing this life instead of something normal and safe.”
I consider this seriously, looking back at Romeo’s sleeping face in the rearview mirror, then at Alessandro’s profile illuminated by the dashboard lights.
“Not one,” I tell him honestly. “This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
And it is. This messy, beautiful life we’ve built together. This family that chose each other and fought to stay together.
This love that’s strong enough to survive anything our world throws at us.
Romeo stirs in his sleep, making those soft baby sounds that melt my heart every time.
He’ll grow up knowing exactly who he is and where he belongs, surrounded by people who would die to protect him and live to love him.
That’s the only legacy that really matters.